


Indulging

by PuddingMcMuffin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Fluff, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Zarkon's armor isn't that great for cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuddingMcMuffin/pseuds/PuddingMcMuffin
Summary: Zarkon and the Ambassador make out.That's it. That's the fic.





	Indulging

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a completely self-indulgent thing that I wrote because I felt like it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The Ambassador sat in Zarkon's lap, both legs slung over one of the Galran's thighs while his torso was twisted to press against Zarkon's chest. He ran his hands across the armor, his fingers tracing the lights on the front. Zarkon also had his hands on the Ambassador, hands rubbing at his back and thigh, all the while their lips were locked together.

How they had ended up in this situation, Zarkon couldn't say. What was supposed to have been a normal meeting in Zarkon's throne room had somehow turned into.... Whatever this was.

How it happened wasn't important, Zarkon told himself. All that mattered in this moment were him and the Ambassador.

The kiss had stayed light at first, both parties testing the other, seeing how far they could go. Once they had gotten more comfortable, the kiss deepened, both slowly beginning to explore the other with their hands once they did so. The Ambassador was, unsurprisingly, more eager to move things along, settling himself in Zarkon's lap more comfortably and leaning against him.

One of Zarkon's hands slowly slid further up the Ambassador's back, his fingertip lightly tracing random patterns through the fabric of the jacket, while Zarkon's other hand rested on his thigh, lightly squeezing from time to time.

The Ambassador's hands slid up Zarkon's chest and up to the armor around his neck. Slowly, the Ambassador pulled himself up further while he wrapped his arms around Zarkon's neck. Zarkon let out a small groan, pressing harder against the Ambassador's back and softly rubbing his thumb against his thigh.

Zarkon felt a tongue lap at his lips, a silent demand to be let in. Zarkon parted his lips quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly, but his want to taste more of the Ambassador ignored any caution of restraint.

The Ambassador's tongue entered, lapping at Zarkon's own as the kiss was deepened further still. Zarkon breathed in deeply, taking in the Reachling's scent. Slowly, Zarkon wrapped his arm around the Ambassador, holding him loosely. Zarkon let out a soft groan, lightly rubbing his hand against the Reachling's thigh once again.

The Ambassador pulled away suddenly, and Zarkon was startled for a moment, as though he thought he had done something wrong. But after a quick look at the Ambassador's smug face, Zarkon followed after the Ambassador's lips, only to be stopped when the Ambassador placed a finger against his mouth and trailed over it. His finger followed over the bumps of his upper and bottom lip, before he trailed up Zarkon's cheek to stroke the scar that ran down it. Zarkon found himself leaning into the touch, his tongue flicking out to lick the Ambassador's finger as it trailed back down. Zarkon only managed to get a brief taste before the Ambassador pulled his hand away. The Ambassador smirked wider when Zarkon glared at him.

“Do you always need to tease?” asked Zarkon. Despite his glare, the husky tone of his voice betrayed the fact that he wasn't angry at all. The Ambassador chuckled, quickly running his finger over Zarkon's lips again.

“I can't help it,” said the Ambassador, pulling his finger away when Zarkon tried to nip at him. “You make it too much fun.”

Zarkon grunted in response, and leaned forward for another kiss. The Ambassador didn't move, seeming to allow Zarkon to continue. But at the last moment he evaded, moving his head over to peck Zarkon on the cheek and then nuzzling his head against Zarkon's shoulder.

A low growl came from Zarkon's throat, and he glared again at the Ambassador, who took that opportunity to lightly kiss the armor plate on Zarkon's shoulder. Zarkon squeezed the Ambassador's thigh, and the Ambassador gave a small gasp at Zarkon's claws pressing into his leg. But the Ambassador stayed where he was, giving another light kiss to Zarkon's shoulder.

“That's my armor you're rubbing up against,” said Zarkon. “I can't imagine that's terribly comfortable.”

The Ambassador didn't respond, only smirking as a deviousness gleamed in his eyes, a look that Zarkon was all too familiar with by now. He really needed to stop with these games he played.

Zarkon released the Ambassador's thigh in order to grip his jaw, not hard enough to hurt him, but with enough strength to keep him from ducking out of his grip again. Gently, Zarkon pulled the Ambassador's face up to his, stopping just short of kissing him.

“Behave,” Zarkon whispered.

If the Ambassador had any retort, he had no chance to say it as Zarkon pressed their lips together again. The Ambassador could only moan against the deep kiss, moving one hand to hold the back of Zarkon's head.

Zarkon wrapped both arms around his back, pulling the Reachling closer against him. The Ambassador didn't fight back, letting Zarkon do as he pleased.

Zarkon felt the Ambassador raise his legs up, and then heard another moan from him. But this one seemed different, more pained. This time it was Zarkon that broke the kiss, and he looked down to see that the Ambassador had tried to curl up against him, but his knee had hit one of the sharp edges of his armor. The Ambassador huffed lightly, but smiled as he looked back to Zarkon.

“Loosen a bit; you're going to crush me,” the Ambassador said, laughing lightly. Zarkon complied, moving his arms to the places they had been previously.

“I just need to adjust myself,” the Ambassador said, anticipating Zarkon questioning him. Zarkon hummed in acknowledgement.

The Ambassador lifted himself up by Zarkon's shoulders, and moved his legs so he was straddling him when he dropped back down. He wasted no time as he took Zarkon's mouth in a kiss once more, wrapping his arms around his neck and continuing where they had left off.

Zarkon's hand slipped beneath the Ambassador's jacket when he had settled back down, and as the Ambassador kissed him, Zarkon went about exploring the skin hidden underneath. He kept his touches light, only dragging the tips of his fingers against the Ambassador's side.

One of his fingers ran into one of the Ambassador's line segments, and Zarkon automatically trailed his claw down the line. The Ambassador shuddered, moaning softly into the kiss. Zarkon repeated the action, and the Ambassador moaned again, pressing closer to Zarkon.

With the knowledge of the Ambassador's apparent sensitivity, Zarkon focused on exploiting that, slipping his other hand underneath to hold the Ambassador on both sides. The Ambassador shuddered against him, his moans increasing as Zarkon continued.

The Ambassador pulled away from the kiss long enough to get in a breath of air before Zarkon roughly pulled him back in by the collar of his shirt, holding him like that while he continued to trail his fingers along the line segments, the Ambassador clutching desperately at Zarkon's armor.

Zarkon trailed his fingers along a line and reached around the Ambassador's back, finding long line segments that ran down his spine. The Ambassador gasped against Zarkon's mouth when he raked a hand down those lines, his armored claws bumping against the smaller lines that connected the longer ones.

The Ambassador pulled away again, and this time Zarkon allowed him. The Ambassador was breathing hard, although he was biting his lip to keep his mouth shut.

“Sensitive? I didn't expect that from you,” said Zarkon, slowly rubbing his hand against the Ambassador's back.

“I don't- I don't believe this is the most appropriate place to be doing this,” said the Ambassador, gasping. “Can you imagine the scandal if someone came in and found us like this?”

Zarkon hummed in thought. “You were so eager earlier. How convenient that you want to stop when I find a weakness,” said Zarkon, grinning as he spoke.

“Or perhaps I've realized we've both made a mistake, and should stop before something happens that we both regret,” the Ambassador swiftly replied.

“This is my throne room; I will do as I please,” said Zarkon, wrapping his other arm around the Ambassador's waist. “No one is coming in,” he said.

“Why are you so certain?”

“Because my soldiers fear me too much to dare enter unannounced.”

The Ambassador smirked, leaning forward and giving a light kiss against Zarkon's scar. Zarkon responded by running his fingers down the Ambassador's back again, drawing out another moan.

“Are you going to be doing that the whole time?” the Ambassador hissed.

Zarkon chuckled, whispering “There's nothing wrong with appreciating something beautiful, Ambassador.”

The Ambassador paused, giving Zarkon an incredulous look. “I'm not so certain how well that works with this situation,” he said. Then he smiled. “I'm going to assume you were just waiting for an opportunity to use that line.”

“Does it matter?” Zarkon asked.

“No, I suppose it doesn't,” the Ambassador answered, and the two moved in again for another kiss.

“Emperor Zarkon.”

One of the sentries, forgotten at the end of the room, spoke, causing both men to freeze, the Ambassador letting out a small squeak of surprise. They both looked at the sentry.

“Commander Prorok requests an audience,” it said.

The Ambassador looked back to Zarkon, who had narrowed his eyes into a glare when he heard Prorok's name.

“Prorok?” the Ambassador asked. "He's that one pudgy commander, correct?”

Zarkon grunted a response, who was not looking at the Ambassador and was instead glaring at the sentry.

“Commander Prorok requests an audience,” the sentry said again.

Clearly, their 'meeting' was now over, the Ambassador determined. Disappointing, but perhaps that was expected when you were in a place as semi-public as this, he mused. He began to lift himself off of Zarkon's lap, but he was stopped when Zarkon's grip around his waist tightened.

“Zarkon?” he said, looking back at him questioningly.

“Prorok can wait,” Zarkon answered, pulling the Ambassador back.

“What?”

Zarkon pulled the Ambassador into a short kiss, letting go to whisper “this is much more important to me.”

“You're going to ignore one of your commanders?” the Ambassador asked, clearly surprised. “What if it's urgent?”

“Commander Prorok requests an audience,” the sentry said, as if on cue.

“It rarely is with him,” said Zarkon.

“Even if it isn't, do you really want to keep him waiting? And then let him see me walking out of here?” the Ambassador asked.

Zarkon didn't answer, still keeping his grip tight on the Ambassador.

The sentry spoke again. “Commander Prorok requests-”

“Silence,” Zarkon said, cutting it off.

A few clicks went by in an awkward silence, with the Ambassador looking back and forth between Zarkon and the entrance of the room, where Prorok undoubtedly was waiting.

Zarkon looked at the door as well, gave a low growl, and then sighed, releasing the Ambassador and allowed him to get back to his feet. The Ambassador took a step back, pressing out wrinkles in his jacket when he noticed that Zarkon still had a slight hold on it, the fabric caught between two of his fingers.

The Ambassador leaned down, placing his hand over the one that held his jacket. “I am certain we will have other... Opportunities, Zarkon,” he said. “One only needs to be patient.” His hand gripped Zarkon's lightly, as if reassuring him.

Zarkon at first said nothing, then made a short laugh.

“Is something amusing?” the Ambassador asked, now eager to try and lift Zarkon's spirits.

“It is always amusing when the young lecture someone as old as myself on something like patience,” said Zarkon, the harsh expression on his face softening.

“I promise I will spare you any sort of lecture next time if you make sure the armor isn't involved,” the Ambassador answered.

Zarkon laughed that time. “And here I thought you liked it.”

“Not when it jabs into me.”

Zarkon chuckled again, and the Ambassador smiled. Slowly, he backed away. Zarkon was still holding onto his jacket, the material sliding through his fingers until the Ambassador had pulled away completely.

Prorok marched in the second the doors opened, stepping aside as the Ambassador walked through but glared daggers as he did so. The Ambassador greeted him the same way he always did: with a nod and a pleasant smile. He could hear Prorok's teeth grind in response.

The Ambassador looked back once before the doors closed. Zarkon sat at his throne, his solemn expression back again, both hands gripping the arms of the chair. From the distance that was now between them, the Ambassador couldn't be certain, but it looked as though Zarkon glared at Prorok as the commander approached. It seemed as though the relatively good mood the Ambassador had put the emperor in had faded quickly.

The Ambassador shrugged his shoulders as the doors slid shut.

“At least I tried.”


End file.
